


the snow that puts stars in your hair

by stargirls



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, M/M, anyway this is ridiculous self-indulgent fluff, up to you tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 09:58:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13432299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargirls/pseuds/stargirls
Summary: Here are two seemingly unrelated things Kravitz knows:1. He’s a sucker for cliché.2. His boyfriend is astonishingly unpredictable.





	the snow that puts stars in your hair

**Author's Note:**

> another extravagant self-indulgence full of hot chocolatey taakitz goodness. happy birthday to me.
> 
> hope everyone's having a fantastic start to their year!

Here are two seemingly unrelated things Kravitz knows:

  1. He’s a sucker for cliché.
  2. His boyfriend is astonishingly unpredictable.



Which is why he can’t help but be wary when Taako texts him after his final class of the day. The texting isn’t what’s unusual, mind you—they have a messaging history that goes back further than Kravitz’s phone can handle. (It doesn’t help that a full quarter of that history is outfit consultations that, more than once, end in a discussion of Victorian aesthetics and how they translate to the modern era. The consensus thus far is, at least on Taako’s end, _really fucking well_ , embellished with at least half a dozen flame emojis.)

No, what’s strange is the message itself, which sends a pang of casual anxiety ricocheting through his chest.

 **Taako ♡** \- _4:12 PM  
_ ive got a surprise for u

 _Surprise_ can mean a lot of things when it comes to his boyfriend, who thinks pineapple on pizza is the best thing since the invention of pizza itself, and had once posted a video of him burning a pair of Uggs on Instagram. Sometimes Taako’s surprises are of the variety that make Kravitz grateful for the way his long, thick scarf hides the beginnings of a blush. He’d be lying to himself if he says his reply isn’t something of a knee-jerk response.

 **Kravitz** \- _4:12 PM  
_ No photos, please. I’m in public.

 **Taako ♡** \- _4:12 PM  
_ thats half the fun babe

 **Taako ♡** \- _4:12 PM  
_ but nah its nothing like that

 **Taako ♡** \- _4:13 PM  
_ ive got smth planned for tomorrow, u just gotta meet me at cherry & wilmington at 2

 **Kravitz** \- _4:13 PM  
_ Ohh, okay. I hope I’m going to like this surprise.

 **Taako ♡** \- _4:14 PM  
_ u will

 **Taako ♡** \- _4:14 PM  
_ & thats a taako™ guarantee

 **Taako ♡** \- _4:14 PM  
_ this cheesy shit is right up ur alley soooo

 **Taako ♡** \- _4:15 PM  
_ plus ill be there n what more could u want

 **Kravitz** \- _4:15 PM  
_ Good point. xxx

 **Taako ♡** \- _4:15 PM  
_ sentiment?? gross xxxx

 **Kravitz** \- _4:16 PM  
_ You love it.

 **Taako ♡** \- _4:16 PM  
_ will neither confirm nor deny

 **Taako ♡** \- _4:17 PM  
_ ill see u tomorrow at 2

 **Taako ♡** \- _4:17 PM  
_ OH also dress warm ;)))

So he’s agreed to something involving Taako, of vague importance and even more vague detail.

Kravitz knows he’ll have no one to blame but himself if this goes horribly, horribly sideways.

Raven offers to drive him. He insists it’s no trouble, that he’ll bundle up and he’s perfectly fine to walk, thank you, but she just _tsks_ and pulls her enormous feathered scarf around her shoulders. “You’ll _freeze_ ,” she says, and her voice makes it clear she won’t have any argument from Kravitz. “Now go get your coat on and meet me at the car in ten.”

She means well, even if they both know he favors form over function. The black peacoat isn’t impractical, and neither is the bright red scarf—last year’s Candlenights gift from Taako, who had insisted he needed a little more color in his outfits. (Kravitz won’t disagree, because he is a little too partial to darks, even when they do make him look like the wealthy widow of a nineteenth-century courtier.) He will concede to the inky lace-up boots being somewhat of an indulgence, but if there’s anyone who can rival Taako’s dedication to aesthetics, it’s Kravitz and his carefully coordinated ensembles. He has to touch up on his eyeliner one last time—white, liquid, purchased on Raven’s recommendation—and then carefully selects a pair of gloves before hustling out to the garage. As promised, Raven is waiting for him, and her eyes light up when she sees his outfit.

“You’re wearing something _vibrant_ ,” she says, as he ducks into the passenger seat, and gestures lightly to the scarf tucked around his neck.

“Too much?”

Raven hums a tad too delightedly. She hasn’t formally met Taako yet, in part because he’s worried their chaotic energies combined could rip apart the universe, but also because he’s anxious at the prospect of asking Taako to what would be, effectively, meet the parents. Raven isn’t his _mother_ , mind you, though she’d probably argue otherwise. She’d met him during his freshman year of university, depressed and down on his luck, and offered him a job as a barista at the café she managed. Fast-forward a few years—Kravitz’s pumpkin spice latte hasn’t improved by much, but he shares an off-campus apartment with her as she works on her doctoral thesis. She doesn’t really look old enough to be his mother, but what with the way she fusses over him and brings him knitted winter wear from her girlfriend, it’s an easy mistake to make.

“No, no,” she’s saying, as Kravitz snaps back to the moment at hand. Raven’s eyes are trained on the rearview mirror, carefully backing their car into the snowy lot, but she’s not even making an attempt to hide her smile. “I think it’s lovely that you’re making an effort for your boyfriend.”

And the sentiment itself is perfectly innocent, but it’s really all in the way she says it, because Kravitz shrinks into his scarf and Raven grins wider and nudges the car onto the road.

It’s an uneasy, rumbling venture to Cherry and Wilmington, and every now and then the car grinds ominously before it comes to a stop at an intersection. Raven’s perfectly comfortable in silence, but Kravitz isn’t, so he leans forward to turn on the radio and catches a face full of warm air as he does. It’s unexpectedly nice, especially considering the fact that he has the worst circulation of anyone he knows and is, by default, always freezing cold. So he doesn’t sit back right away. He hunches over in his seat, still half-submerged in Taako’s scarf, and settles right in front of the heater.

Raven says, “What are you _doing_?” which is an entirely fair tone of voice for an entirely fair question.

Kravitz starts to reply until he realizes he’s effectively muffled by the scarf, so he pulls it down and tries again. “I’m warming up my face,” he says.

“Why…?” The word is light with amusement and genuine curiosity.

“I don’t want it to be cold and weird,” says Kravitz, into his scarf.

She just hums knowingly and turns back to the road. Raven is an excellent maternal figure for several reasons, one of which being her inexplicable ability to embarrass him without saying a word. Remarkable thing, that.

They pull up to the meeting place just before two, and by some holiday-induced miracle, Taako is already there. It’s ridiculous how easily the sight of him makes Kravitz’s heart speed up. He’s a bright, wintery spectrum against Kravitz’s gothic ensemble, sporting a knit beret and a woolen scarf that nearly swallows up the length of his braid. A pair of tinted glasses slips down his nose as he reaches up to flag down Raven’s car with one mitten-clad hand, and Raven smiles, navigating their car over to the curb.

“Looks like this is you,” she says. “I’m picking you up at five, right? But call me if you need me earlier. And keep those gloves on, will you? Don’t want you getting frostbite before the Candlenights season is over. And remember to use my credit card—”

Kravitz can’t open the door hastily enough. He promises Raven that they’ll be safe and responsible, and yes, he’ll take plenty of photos for her to share with Istus, and at last he’s free to step out onto the snowy sidewalk. It takes a fair bit of negotiating with the icy concrete and his woefully indulgent boots to get onto steady ground, so by the time he’s made it, Taako’s already picked his way over. The precarious terrain is quickly forgotten as Taako curls his fingers into that fire-engine-red scarf and pulls Kravitz in. “Hey there, handsome,” he murmurs, and reaches up to tug at Kravitz’s lapel. “Right on time as always, huh?”

The space between them tastes of snow and vanilla and a hint of cilantro, and it might be the relief of seeing his boyfriend after an exhausting week, or it could be the general punch-drunkenness that Taako’s presence invites, but Kravitz can’t help himself. (He’s weak _and_ a hopeless romantic; sue the universe for tossing those traits together.) “You look beautiful, Taako.”

“Right back ‘atcha, fella.” Kissing him is giving into the best possible impulse, and it’s an honest-to-God relief to feel the fit of Taako’s lips against his own; catch the rasp of his breath along one cheek. When they break apart—because all good things must come to an end, of course—Taako whistles softly. “Hot damn,” he says, slightly hoarse, and saves himself with a brisk pat to Kravitz’s chest. “You really know how to get a guy’s blood pumpin’ in the freezing cold, dontcha?”

Kravitz shrugs. “I learned from the best.”

“You think you’re so fuckin’ smooth.” Taako nudges him and turns to wave at Raven, who, to Kravitz’s complete lack of surprise, is still idling at the curb. “What’s the story, morning glory?”

She leans across the passenger side to wave back. “What’s the tale, nightingale?”

“Oh, y’know. Gonna show your boy a good time.” He slips an arm around Kravitz’s waist with an extremely conspicuous wink, which Kravitz has to assume is for Raven but is obvious enough for the entire neighborhood and then some. “Natch.”

“You’d better,” Raven sings, and she doesn’t actually wink back, but it’s in her voice all the same. “You boys have a good time!”

“Good _bye_ , Raven!” says Kravitz pointedly, and she laughs, rolls the window up, and shifts back behind the wheel. The car pulls away from the curb and trundles off down the street, to his weak-kneed relief. He really doesn’t feel like being further embarrassed in front of his boyfriend, who knows how to fluster him better than anything.

Speaking of which. “ ’Bout time,” Taako lilts, and slips a hand into Kravitz’s pocket as he leans forward. “I thought she’d never leave.”

Kravitz staves off a blush with a quip of his own. “Aren’t we eager?”

“Aren’t we talkative?” Taako returns, and kisses him again, catching Kravitz’s lower lip between his teeth. “It’s been, what, two weeks? Can you blame me for missing my gorgeous man?”

“This has nothing to do with the fact that I’m warm, does it?”

He pauses with his mouth wandering towards Kravitz’s jawline. They’d be verging on public indecency if there were anyone else around, but luckily, no one seems terribly keen to hang out on a street corner in the snowy cold. “Uh… no.”

Kravitz smirks, and earns another nudge for his amusement. “Busted.”

“Yeah, fuck off.” Taako shoves him again, but he keeps his arm loose around Kravitz’s waist. “You’re the one who kept me waiting.”

Indignant, Kravitz pulls up his sleeve to check the face of his watch. “It’s two o’clock, on the dot—wait a minute. You got here _early_?”

And here’s how he knows it’s big: Taako doesn’t immediately shoot back.

“I—I did not,” he stammers, just as his gaze hits the sidewalk. Dropping eye contact means this falls just short of momentous. “I got here at—at roughly what time we said we’d get here. Casually. Wasn’t even looking at the clock.”

“You got here _early_ ,” Kravitz repeats, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You made an _effort_. Oh, Taako, I’m so proud.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps, but Kravitz can see the tips of his ears turning bright red. “I’m gonna kick your ass, and you deffo wouldn’t want that before I unveil your surprise. Y’know what? I might just withhold it altogether.”

“You wouldn’t do that.” He would, actually, but Taako doesn’t need to know that Kravitz knows that. Instead of further embarrassing his boyfriend—a pastime second only to getting embarrassed himself—he leans in and nuzzles the tip of Taako’s scarlet ear. “C’mon. I’m sorry. I’d love to see the surprise.”

Taako softens against him, but he keeps the recalcitrant set to his jaw. “I’ll think about forgiving you. _Think_ about it. In the meantime, I’m only showing you the surprise because I’m fuckin’ _dying_ out here.”

“Because you got here early.”

“I’m gonna put snow down your coat.” He snags Kravitz’s sleeve and pulls. “Let’s get a move on, bubula, we got a couple blocks to go!”

Kravitz stalls. “We’re walking… to the surprise?”

“Yes. No more audience questions. Now come _on_.” Taako lets his last word spiral into a groan, and with an affectionate roll of his eyes, Kravitz follows. They amble along the edge of a nondescript suburb, and Taako tells him about which classes are trying to kill him, what his weird sister and her weirder boyfriend are up to, et cetera. He asks Kravitz about his music, and Kravitz accidentally spends two blocks talking about how violins are terrible to compose for—

“But not as awful as oboes are to conduct,” Taako finishes, looking immensely proud of himself, and Kravitz has to kiss him for that.

Their trek through the snow leaves them both noticeably shivering, and by the time the first signs of civilization show—civilization other than the suburban variety, that is, which doesn’t really count anyway—Kravitz is flexing his gloved hands just to keep them from numbing altogether. They cross the street past a strip mall and a frozen-over park, and then he recognizes the peaky, wooden roof of what reminds him of a displaced ski lodge. Taako sees him take a breath to ask a question, and he holds up a finger, stopping the query in its tracks. “What did I say? No audience questions. That’s why they call it a _surprise_. Now pick up the pace, Krav, I’m freezin’ my ass off.”

Now that they’re getting closer, Kravitz definitely recognizes this place. Even if he hadn’t, the sign draped in fake garland would have given him a hint, at the very least. He stops Taako as they step under the awning, out of the snow, stamping out their boots and shaking ice off their coats.

“The ice rink?” he says.

“Outdoor,” says Taako. “To be precise.” He has snowflakes caught in his eyelashes, and he blinks rapidly until they start to melt against his cheek. “Yeah, I, uh… I think you mentioned a while back that you were really into this cliché winter shit, like, winter-themed dates ’n all that. And there’s no winter-themed date more cringeworthy than—than ice skating, right? Figured we could rent ourselves some skates, give it a go… I dunno,” he finishes, and although Taako’s expression is completely blasé, Kravitz can make out the tips of his ears turning red again. “Hey, at the very least, it’ll be a good time-waster, right?”

“Time-waster,” Kravitz echoes incredulously. “Taako, this is—”

 _So nice_ , he wants to say; _so considerate, so goddamn sweet_ , because they’d had this exact conversation, channel-surfing on a blisteringly cold day. Taako had paused on a Hallmark holiday movie, shifted into Kravitz’s side, and hummed thoughtfully. “Y’know, I know these are supposed to be fuckin’ terrible,” he’d said, “but it’s surprisingly easy to get emotionally invested. And if you _ever_ try to use that as ammo for—for teasing me, I’m gonna put that video on Insta of you crying over Chopin.”

“It—it’s pronounced _show-pan_ —”

“Like I said. Chopin. Anyway, I don’t usually go for that cheesy holiday bullshit, but this stuff is entertaining, at least.” He’d fallen silent in the way Kravitz was so familiar with, challenging a follow-up question or, heaven forbid, a jibe.

But Kravitz had only smiled. The couple on screen was slipping and sliding their way across an ice rink, and he’d trained his eyes on them as he spoke. “I’m a sucker for all that. I don’t know, there’s just something satisfying about it. Cheesy holiday bullshit and wintery outings and all.”

And now they’re standing here in front of what he can only describe as the _cheesiest_ possible venue for a wintery outing, half-frozen and covered in snow, and Taako isn’t grandstanding at all. He isn’t bragging or demanding Kravitz’s initial reactions because this is a rare, honest show of sentimentality to indulge his boyfriend’s admittedly sappy tastes.

Kravitz has never been so touched.

“It’s perfect,” he says, because he can tell Taako’s suffered enough at the hands of sentimentality. “Let’s get in there, shall we?”

If he didn’t know better (and, well, who’s to say he does, because Taako is always a wild card no matter the situation), he’d swear relief flashes across Taako’s face. It’s gone faster than Kravitz can blink. “ _Hell_ yes. I’m all for it. Heat, let’s find the heat.”

As it turns out, the inside of an outdoor ice skating venue isn’t particularly warm, but it’s enough to dissolve the snowflakes persisting on Kravitz’s scarf. They wade through frazzled clusters of families and find their way to the front desk, where an exhausted-looking employee gets them their skates and points them to the rink entrance. (“There’s one stereotype for you,” Taako says. “Ice rink employee who’s had enough of everyone’s shit.” Kravitz is pretty sure no such stereotype exists, but he lets it slide.)

They get their skates laced up, which is more of an ordeal than it has any right to be, and as they wobble carefully to the entrance, a wall of lukewarm air hits them squarely in the face. Kravitz steps out of the crowd’s way to focus on the scene in front of him. He hadn’t been ice skating in years, and even then, that was if you counted ice skating on a frozen pond that creaked and groaned if you so much as stumbled. This is very different and he thinks he likes it. The rink is cluttered with people, gliding and shuffling and making their way around in a clumsy counterclockwise oval, and overhead speakers blast a _Sounds of the Season_ radio that echoes over the ice. More fake garland lines the rink, and lights dangle from the overhang where they stand. It’s all trying just a bit too hard, and it’s _exactly_ what Kravitz had had in mind.

He shakes himself out of his reverie as Taako ventures forward, determinedly readjusting his beret. His boyfriend stops short at the rink entrance and waves Kravitz over, and Kravitz notices he’s holding his arms slightly away from himself for balance. He’s not one to judge, of course—as he’s fast discovering, ice skates are _not_ pleasant to walk around in. “You comin’?”

“I’m certainly trying,” Kravitz calls back, and picks his way over to Taako. They stare down the entrance, where the ice drops off several inches and meets with the pavement. It looks precarious and altogether a little terrifying, and although some skaters are navigating it with ease, others hesitate like they know something Taako and Kravitz don’t.

Geronimo.

They move forward as one, but Taako’s skates are the first to make contact. “Oookay, just—” His mittens affix themselves firmly to Kravitz’s sleeve as they step out onto the ice, and immediately Kravitz grabs ahold of the railings with an extremely undignified squawk. He rights himself after a few seconds of struggling and sliding, which isn’t made any easier by the fact that Taako flat out refuses to let go of his arm. “Just—fuck, Krav!” he squeaks, suspended between panic and breathless laughter. “Just stop _moving_ for a sec!”

Sheepish, Kravitz braces them against the wall while Taako finds his footing, still clinging to him for dear life. A few grade-schoolers glide by them, and Taako shoots them a dirty look, then tugs on Kravitz’s arm. “Okay. C’mon, fella,” he says. “We really gonna let a—a coupla kids show us up on the ice?”

“ _Absolutely_ not,” says Kravitz, and they wobble their way off the wall.

It’s harder than he expects to put his money where his mouth is. For one, they’re both relying on each other for balance, which is incredibly hard to do when neither of them have a fantastic grasp of staying on their feet. Taako curses quietly into his scarf every few minutes, and once or twice he slips and nearly pulls Kravitz down with him. Of course, Kravitz is no better, and the one time he _really_ falls they both end up on the ice. It’s even harder to get back up, which they do manage, but only after thoroughly coating one side of Kravitz’s peacoat with snow.

At this point Taako is giggling and he’s helpless with laughter, himself, and they stumble back against the far end of the rink where couples shuffle past, making significantly more progress than the two of them. Kravitz tucks his arm around Taako’s waist and they watch the children at the center of the rink, who perform tiny jumps and skate circles around each other. They’re moving with more grace and skill than all the adults around them combined.

“Ango’d fit right in here,” Taako mutters, pushing his head against Kravitz’s shoulder. “He’s great at bein’ good at shit and… pissing off the grown-ups.”

“I have to say, watching them does kind of make me question what I’ve achieved in life.”

He clicks his tongue. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. You got—you got yourself a hot beau, for one. And your own hot bod.” Taako strips off a mitten and reaches up to thumb over Kravitz’s cheek, and compared to where he’s lost most of the feeling in his face, his boyfriend’s hand is warm. “One ‘a these days I’m gonna cut myself on this jawline.”

“I don’t know if genetics can be helped, but I’ll take the compliment.” Kravitz tips his head and kisses the pad of Taako’s thumb. “You’d better watch yourself then, huh? If I’m as dangerous as you say?”

“You most certainly are, and you—you got no business being this charming, either.” Taako pulls his mitten back on and grabs Kravitz’s hand. “We’re gonna show these fools how it’s done this time. No falling, no flailing, none ‘a that shit. You, uh, ready?”

“Ready,” says Kravitz, who is not at all ready, and with one arm still secured firmly around Taako’s waist, they venture back out onto the ice. It’s a little easier now that they’ve done a lap or two, although his ankles are starting to ache in the slightly-too-small skates, and they actually make it back around the rink with minimal fumbling. Despite the thirty-below temperature, Kravitz can feel sweat starting to bead on his forehead. Taako is flushed slightly darker than normal, although he doesn’t complain. One of the grade-schoolers races past them and skids around the edge of the rink.

He’s almost positive he doesn’t have an inferiority complex, but _gods_ , if those little kids aren’t putting him at risk of developing one.

It’s only a few more times around before Kravitz really starts to tire, and Taako makes a show of leaning dramatically into Kravitz’s chest and proclaiming he can’t go on (which is plenty entertaining in theory, but very stupid in practice, because they both end up falling again). They recover pretty quickly, which is probably the most competent thing either of them have done on the ice, and shamble over to the entrance, where more of the little kids are clamoring and sliding easily off the rink. Kravitz steps _very_ carefully onto sturdy ground, and instantly his knees go weak with relief. He helps Taako across, and they lurch over to a nearby bench, which someone’s left blessedly, blissfully open. On his life, he promises never to take sitting down for granted again.

Taako melts onto Kravitz. Loose strands of hair float in a staticky halo around his beret, and his scarf shifts up to obscure half of his face as they recline. “Holy _shit_ ,” he mumbles. “I remember this being so much _easier_.”

Kravitz grins. “You must be getting old and frail.”

“Oh, says you, Mr. My-joints-ache-when-it-rains.” He gives Kravitz a playful, half-hearted shove and taps his skate against the ground. “ _God_. I can’t bend over to take these off. I can’t even make a joke about what I just said, because my fuckin’ funny bone is sore.”

“If _the_ Taako can’t muster a joke, this must be more serious than I thought.”

Taako sucks in an enormous breath and swings one of his feet up and over onto Kravitz’s lap. His stare is deep, soft, and full of desperation. “I’ll take off yours if you take off mine.”

All Kravitz has to do is raise an eyebrow, and he instantly drops the pleading act and scoffs theatrically. “ _God_ , get your mind out of the gutter, will you? This is a family establishment! A respectable business… and whatever!”

He goes on rambling as Kravitz rolls his eyes and unlaces Taako’s skate as best he can with half-frozen fingers. Once he’s managed to undo the other, Taako leans down and yanks Kravitz’s foot up onto the bench. The bench is icy. Kravitz isn’t paying attention. He flails for balance, and manages it, but only after several seconds of flapping his arms like an oversized bird.

“ _Taako_ ,” he manages, finally. “A little warning next time would be nice.”

His boyfriend shrugs and works his fingers through the knots in Kravitz’s skates, undoing them with impressive dexterity. “I’m just tryin’ to get the job done. Sit back, relax, and let Taako take care of you, hm?”

That most definitely is not a reassuring sentiment, but Kravitz relents nonetheless. Taako pulls the skates off with a great deal of effort, and they make a break across the icy ground to retrieve their shoes from the front desk. The building is still filled to the brim with patrons and discarded skates, both of which are trying as hard as possible to be tripping hazards. Needless to say, they end up back outside next to the rink. The speakers are still blasting carols, and snow drifts down to land on the nearby quad. The two of them are standing just out of reach of the overhang, nudged aside by the droves of red-faced ice skaters coming in and out, and Kravitz has to blink to keep the odd snowflake out of his eyes. Standing next to Taako, who has his fingers laced through his, it’s easy to forget about the cold.

Speaking of which. “What’re you staring at me for?”

Taako snorts. He looks wildly amused as he reaches up and rakes his fingers through Kravitz’s hair, shaking them out onto the ground. “You’ve got snowflakes _all over_ , you dork. Hold still for a sec.”

Kravitz does. He idles as Taako brushes snow out of his dreads and sends a small shower of it cascading off his coat. After a few heartbeats, he stands back, looking rather like he’s admiring his work but also something of Kravitz’s own design. The faux-contemplative expression on his face lasts only for a moment before he breaks and leans in, then links them with an achingly soft kiss. Kravitz steps forward, curling a hand around Taako’s lapel, when his boyfriend sucks in a breath and then _yelps_. Despite himself, Kravitz jumps. He’s used to eliciting a fair few noises from their kisses, but this is not one he’s heard before.

“ _Boy_ howdy,” Taako gasps, and Kravitz has to smile at the turn of phrase, despite his confusion. “You are _cold_ as death, my man. We gotta get you warmed up somehow.”

Kravitz can think of more than a few choice ways to warm up, and he’s about to list them off when something catches Taako’s eye. He tugs on Kravitz’s hand again and jabs a finger at a small, red-and-golden stand, where a man and a woman serve a small line of customers. “Oh, _hell_ yes. Hot choco train is pulling into the station, baby. All we need is a nice, roaring fire and some ugly-ass sweaters, and I’m getting some seriously primo _The Holiday_ vibes.”

“You’ve seen _The Holiday_?”

“I—irrelevant.” Taako flips his braid over one shoulder and sets off across the sidewalk with Kravitz in tow. He rattles off an increasingly complicated order to the vendors, which includes cinnamon and milk and “your best house garnish, please,” and ends up with a spiraling, steaming cup of hot chocolate swirled with white. Kravitz is a sucker for the classics, but he indulges himself in a dollop of whipped cream and a bright red cherry that sits precariously atop it. It reminds him of eight-year-old winters and lights strung up over frosted windows, and it’s only his boyfriend’s gentle nudge that coaxes him out of the past and back to the cold, snowy present.

“You good?” says Taako.

“Just fine.” A chill runs through Kravtiz, and in spite of himself, he shudders against the wind. “Where were those heat lamps, again?”

It takes a couple minutes for them to pick their way back over to the awning, and the snow is piling in drafts around Kravitz’s admittedly impractical boots. Taako nearly slips on a three-inch heel and catapults his hot chocolate across the quad, but he grabs Kravitz at the last second and saves his drink from a grisly fate. “For the love of God,” he grates, yanking his beret back into place. “The literal, actual ground hates me now. Nowhere is safe, Krav! All the world’s an ice rink, apparently!”

The pavement is wet but sturdy under them once they get to the heat lamps, and the rush of warmth makes Kravitz’s eyes flutter. He _knows_ he’s not going to be able to get out of bed tomorrow, much less lift his arms to conduct an entire orchestra, but the tiredness sitting in his bones is good and full and satisfying. The hot chocolate is even better. As always, the first sip scalds his tongue, but the second is heated and rich and settles comfortably in his stomach. He takes a breath crisp with the scent of melted snow, and realizes Taako is reclining against him, sipping idly from his decorative cup. That alone is a more delicate thing to preserve than the snowflakes dissolving into Kravitz’s coat.

“This is wonderful,” he says aloud.

Taako takes a self-important sip of hot chocolate. “Of course it is. I told you I fuckin’—uh, stuck the landing on this thing. Do I know romance, or what?”

“Oh, you know romance. For sure.”

He hums, satisfied, and falls silent again. Silence is a rare thing between them. Taako’s prattle likes to occupy every available space, and while Kravitz loves it—loves _Taako_ —he cherishes the quiet just as much. Sitting on a dripping wet bench, cold and tired and sore, it’s the finishing touch on an otherwise perfect afternoon.

They sit comfortably in the quiet, letting it settle around them in a cocoon of warmth and satisfaction. Now the memories are sitting in the creases of Kravitz’s scarf, scaling his sleeves and taking up residence on his shoulders. He brushes them off with a tiny, involuntary shudder.

“You know something,” he says, moreso to himself than to Taako. “I never got to do anything like this when I was younger. Because of the heart thing, they just… didn’t want me straining myself. So I always felt like I was missing out, like there was something about the season I wasn’t getting—now I get it.” And here Kravitz has to laugh at himself, at how utterly predictable he is and how quick he is to succumb to the thrall of sentiment. “I won’t, uh, bore you with the whole, _this-means-so-much-to-me_ spiel, but it does. Mean a lot to me. So thank you, Taako. Today has been great.”

His words evaporate into an icy fog, and after a few heavy moments, Kravitz’s eyes flick to Taako. He’s sunken slightly into his scarf, focusing on something across the quad, hot chocolate hanging in his hand. Kravitz knows that look—that still, paralyzed vacancy. It means Taako’s mind is working at a thousand miles an hour and hasn’t decided to leave him the capacity to speak.

But just like that, he snaps out of it and says, “Yeah. You’re welcome.”

Kravitz blinks. “That’s it? No teasing? No—” He clears his throat and pitches his voice up an octave or so. “ _You’re such a fuckin’ sap, Krav, I swear to God._ ”

That gets a snort out of Taako, which is a good sign. “Shut up. I don’t sound _anything_ like that.”

“Sure you don’t.” Kravitz slips an arm around Taako’s waist, and without having to look, Taako’s now mitten-free fingers lace through his. “I mean it, though.”

“Yeah,” says Taako, through a knit mass of scarf. “I—I, uh, I mean it, too.”

They idle for awhile longer before Kravitz gives a start. “You know something? I promised Raven I would take a picture of us.”

“To embarrass us with?”

“Most definitely.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and fiddles with it, pulling up the camera. “I mean, it shouldn’t be a problem, we’re both pretty photogenic.”

“Emphasis on the pretty,” says Taako, preening. “Wink.”

Kravitz shoots him a vigorous eye roll and holds up the phone. It frames them leaning into each other, still faintly flushed from the cold. Taako reaches out and toys with the angle, and after a moment or so of serious consideration, he gives a satisfied nod. “That looks good, don’t you think?”

“ _We_ look good,” Kravitz corrects.

“You’re damn right we do.” He stretches back to put an arm around Kravitz’s shoulders. “On the count of three, then?”

“Count of three. One, two…”

Before he can get to _three_ , Taako cranes his neck and kisses Kravitz’s cheek. It’s sudden enough to make Kravitz jump, and he’s able to keep the phone steady in his hand, but his finger twitches and captures the photo before he can regain his bearings. “What—” Embarrassingly, it does take him a second or two to recover. “What was that for?”

Taako shrugs. “You, uh, you said you wanted the cheesy shit, right? Taako delivers on his guarantees. Plus, I had to test my theory.”

“Your theory?” says Kravitz, smiling.

“Yeah.” He shifts forward and kisses Kravitz for real, catching him halfway through a breath and lingering with a tiny curve to his lip. When he sits back, Taako’s eyelashes flutter, and Kravitz would be lying to himself if he says he doesn’t have a hard time refocusing himself. These things happen too easily when they’re around each other, he has to admit. Once upon a time he might have feared that vulnerability, but he’s just spent an entire afternoon relying on Taako for balance and nothing has ever felt so right.

“Anyway, I was right, as I often am,” Taako says, and leans back into Kravitz’s side with another satisfied sip. “You’re warm.”

Here are two definitively related things Kravitz knows:

  1. He could get used to unpredictability.
  2. He _is_ warm, and it’s no thanks to the hot chocolate.



**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @lichlesbian and on twitter @stellarlesbian!


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